Singing Songs
by Miss Aranel
Summary: An Imladris healer wrestles with the choice of whether or not to save an injured child's life, and deals with the consequences. OCs. Ch. 6: The hearing loss verdict, a trip to the gardens, white sandal pondering, and a visit to potential foster parents.
1. Chapter 1

Singing Songs

Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters, places, events, or concepts belong to the J.R.R. Tolkien Estate. 

This is a story based around original characters—though canon characters may be mentioned, they are not main characters. You may or may not recognize Nimaron. 

You may thank Dragon-of-the-North for asking questions and prodding me into posting this; if she had not, it would probably never appear here. *g* She has written some intriguing stories, all of which will probably make you question your viewpoints (within Tolkien's world and without) at least once or twice. They are well worth the read. 

Questions and comments are welcome. You shall all have to let me know if I am capable of writing angst or not.

--Aranel  (aranels@hotmail.com)

~*~

Prologue 

The Elfling rushed into the little house, tugging at the small sleeved cloak that hung on a high peg near the door. He hurriedly shoved his arms into it, not bothering to pull the soft grey hood over his dark hair. 

Outside his father caught him, tipping the laughing child upside-down and passing him to his bright-eyed mother. The small one quieted as she smoothed his hair behind tiny pointed ears, kissing the warm forehead as she bounced him slightly on her knees. 

"What do they do there?" the little one asked, tracing a finger along the ridge of his mother's nose. 

His mother pulled the little hood up, tucking more stray strands of dark hair inside it, "They sing, all day and deep into the night."

"Every night?" 

"Every night," his mother kissed him again, looking at the shining little face, the grey eyes sparkling at the thought, "A song is in your heart, my little one, and perhaps there you shall learn to sing it." 

~*~

Chapter One 

The skies over Imladris were pooled with brilliant yellows and pinks blending into a soft blue as the sun made her early morning journey. Already the stones of the main city's streets were growing warm, and the flowers in the public gardens turned sleepy heads towards this first welcome light, slowly opening their petals as a tired child might open his eyes. 

Early risers had thrown open the shutters that protected most windows, raising panes of glass to allow the fresh air into bedrooms supplied with pitchers of warm wash water and dining rooms with freshly wrapped silverware. In a large bakery near the middle of the city fresh loaves of bread were being swiftly wrapped in white towels, their warmth preserved for breakfasts of toast and jam. Jars of fresh milk from the dairies, the cream settling on the surface in a thick layer, were deposited near doors and nestled into convenient window boxes, and the smell of freshly made applesauce and nearly burning sausages came from the kitchen doorway of a boarding house.

A young mother still in her nightclothes carried her infant outside, rocking the fussing baby in an arm as she sleepily pulled a clean diaper from the line that ran across a small yard before returning to the house. Not far away in the stables a few Elves were busily pouring feed into boxes and making sure the horses' water was fresh. Up and around the road the House of Elrond was quietly busy, servants arranging freshly cut flowers in vases and making sure that the house was in perfect order for their lord's return later that day.  

It was picturesque, perfect this morning. 

Save in the infirmary. 

~*~

He did not like this. He had never in all his years as a healer liked this. 

_This_ was the gnawing anxiety that filled him as he ran from his own house to the infirmary nearby, intensifying with every step closer to the building. They did not tell him as an apprentice that the feeling would not change over time, that he would always be shot through with worry when someone rushed breathlessly into his home or the library or the dining hall, saying that he was needed. 

What would he see? Why, exactly, did they need him? What actions would he take, would he need to take? And—worst and most fearful of all—would he be too late? 

He pushed open a door to the infirmary, instinctively striding down the noisiest hall. In the corridor a tired-looking Elf maiden sat on a hastily drawn chair, a thick book on her lap, making notes while she spoke with two members of the Imladris Guard. One of these looked markedly dazed while the other repeatedly glanced over his shoulder to the door slightly behind him. It was this door that the rushing healer chose to enter. 

"I came as soon as I heard," he offered, making note of the people in the room as they looked up, "Why exactly is Aglariel with…oh, Valar…what happened?!"

 "We do not really know, Nimaron. The Guards brought him in only a few minutes ago," one of the healers already present in the room stepped aside as Nimaron strode to the table where their patient was laid out. She stared for a moment at the small body, then raised pained eyes to the dark-haired healer, "It cannot have been an accident…but who would do such a thing? And why? _Why_?" 

"I…I've no idea, Eithel," Nimaron managed to choke out, numbly pulling over a high stool to sit on, "Where is…where is Lord Elrond?"

"He is not yet back from Lorien," Eithel responded, wetting a cloth in a bowl of water.  

Of all times for the master healer and ruler of Imladris to be gone, it would be a time when something like this happened. Things like this were not supposed to happen, least of all to children. 

Nimaron had known it would be a child. It was always a child when they called him in, for not everyone would remember the vital differences between a smaller body and that of an adult, of the odd peculiarities of a little person's hands or head or heart. Yes, it was always a child, or someone nearly a child, and this was no exception. 

He had also gathered that the initial sight would not be a pleasant one, for the healing assistants or apprentices sent to find him always seemed distinctly unnerved when fingers had been nearly severed or a limb twisted in an unusual way. He had, however, not expected something like this. 

Carefully he slid a hand under the small head, tilting it slowly from side to side. Purplish bruises were beginning to spread over the pale skin, visible under the unconscious child's dark hair and stretching to cover the sides of his face. The healer's gentle fingers hesitated in palpating for areas of unusual pressure, the signs of painful swelling already quite visible. 

"There is a bleed," Nimaron managed, carefully pressing his fingers above the child's right ear. The healer closed his eyes, focusing on the condition of the child's head, "Yes, a steady bleed on the right side, above the ear…and the skull bones are broken on both sides, though it is hard to tell exactly where with all the swelling. Find a surgeon—quickly!" 

~*~

Hathel of the Imladris Guard watched as one of Elrond's many healers, a drained-looking blonde lady, rushed out of the room behind his chair, his mind more on whatever was happening in there instead of the questions Aglariel was asking. Next to him Luinen gripped a mug of tea in trembling hands, obviously anxious to go home and down something that would calm his nerves a bit faster. 

He knew that inside that room were several of Imladris' most qualified healers and one very small and injured Elfling. The soldier cared little for the healers at this moment, save for the work they were doing, and instead dwelled on the tiny person he had delivered into their care only ten or so minutes ago. It had been a panicked rush into the city, trying not to jar the unconscious form as he and the small group training with him skidded down the path, their daily sunrise run cut short. Hathel drew in a long breath, looking at the tired Elf maiden sitting across from him, "Is he going to be all right?" 

"I…I cannot say," she responded, meeting Elf's concerned green eyes for a moment before returning to the paper before her. She pushed a wayward strand of brown hair behind an ear, running a finger under her notes, "This is important though, Hathel. You say you found him right on the path?"

"It is just as I said, Aglariel. We were running, as we do every morning, and two, two and a half leagues…" Hathel faltered as the blonde lady returned with a tall Elf that he recognized as one of Rivendell's surgeons, both of them talking hurriedly as they entered the treatment room. Something must be very wrong if they were bringing in a surgeon. The soldier felt one of Aglariel's thin hands on his arm, holding him in his place as he tried to rise from his chair, "…I'm sorry…two leagues out of city we found him. I could mark it on a map for you. Seregon and a few others stayed to search the area." 

Aglariel nodded, marking up her paper with small notes. Hathel's concern for the injured child had not given way to rage at whoever had inflicted such harm yet, though she knew it would be coming soon. Very little of the information he was giving her made any sense, for why would someone attack a small child only to leave him where he would most certainly be found? She peered up at the soldier again, giving the silent Luinen a short moment of consideration before continuing, "What did he look like when you found him, Hathel?"

"Look like?" Hathel repeated the question, trying to remember, "We knew he was hurt…we actually thought he was…dead. His looked awful…" The images and sounds of the early morning were still fresh in his mind: the hesitant note in Luinen's alerting voice, the pale, dirtied green of the child's tunic, the first look at the bruised little face, the rusty color of blood from the tiny pointed ears. The little one had to have seen no more than ten or eleven summers. The soldier's thoughts drifted to his own small daughter at home, probably still lying tangled in the sheets of her tiny bed. Where were this child's parents? How would they feel, what would they do if they knew what had happened? Hathel gripped the arms of his chair, his eyes drifting again to the room behind him, "Do you think he will be all right?"  

"As I said, I cannot say," Aglariel glanced to the door, "They are trying…"

"…not doing it!" The surgeon suddenly strode out of the door, one of his fellows following him quickly. The two traveled to the far end of the hall, their voices too low for Hathel to hear. 

"It is only one hole, Mardil," Nimaron stared at the other healer. 

"The hole that would save the child's Valar-forsaken life, Aron!" Mardil exclaimed, then sobered. He ran a hand over his tired face, glancing up with serious brown eyes at the other healer, "Much as I would wish it, he will not heal wholly and fine, Nimaron. Breaks like that…they can crush nerves, the ear canals. More likely than not he will not be able to hear or speak or even smile, Aron. Who can say if his brain has not been rocked back and forth in his skull—we have no knowledge of how many times the child was hit—he might not even know himself. It is not fair to make him endure all of that while he could pass peacefully into company with his family now." 

"You do not know that though," Nimaron reasoned, glancing back towards the door, "His family might be alive. The breaks may have missed the nerves and ears."

"I am not doing it, Aron," Mardil repeated firmly, laying a hand on the other healer's arm for a moment before turning to go, "If it were me, I would not want you to save me, and I know many of like mind. Sometimes it is better to let them go; sometimes it is not fair to save them."

~*~

Nimaron stared after the departing surgeon for a moment, Mardil's words still sinking into his mind. He had never doubted that they would save the child's life; that was what healers did, it was what healers were for. 

But if he saved this child's life, the odds favored the fact that he would be saving a child who would not hear, would not smile, would never see a member of his own family again. What sort of life did that leave him? The overwhelming reality was fast overtaking the thin sliver of hope that things would eventually turn out fine.

"Hurry, Aron! We have only got a moment or two before the pressure begins cause real damage. You are going to have to do it yourself," Eithel leaned out the doorway, hurrying over to the other healer and guiding him back into the treatment room. 

If only Lord Elrond were present to make one of his wise choices. If only the child's parents were present to decide what to do! Nimaron  resumed his place near the Elfling's head, allowing himself to look carefully at the small face as he checked the bleed again. The pressure had increased in the last few minutes, and within the hour it would take his life. The decision had to be made now, this moment. The healer closed his eyes, still struggling between his personal beliefs and what might truly be fair and right. Was there even a right choice in this situation, and if there was, how was he to know what it was?  Who was he to decide a fate, to choose whether someone was allowed to live or to die? If only someone else were here to choose…if only the Valar would verify that they truly had allowed the child's fate to pass solely to the hands of Mandos or not…if they would only speak, give a sign…anything. 

"Aron," the voice of another healer caught his attention, and he opened his eyes to see Eithel holding a clean pair of thin scissors, "Is that where you plan to drill?" 

 Nimaron glanced down, seeing that he had unconsciously measured out the spot above the child's ear with his fingers. It seemed the closest thing to a sign as the Valar might give.  He probed carefully to be sure of the place, nodding numbly, "Yes; yes it is." 

~*~~*~~*~

Author's Notes 

I am aware that the medical information in this first chapter may be a little hard to understand, since Nimaron and the other healers never explicitly say what has happened. When Nimaron says that the skull bones on both sides of the child's head are broken, he is talking about the temporal bones. If you place a hand over your own ear, the area it covers is roughly one of these bones. As Mardil points out later, a break in a temporal bone may cause deafness and facial paralysis on its side. These effects are usually permanent. 

When Nimaron mentions that there is a "bleed", he means a bleed between the skull and the brain. This sort of bleeding is a possibility with skull fractures and concussions. In some cases a bleed will stop before it causes brain damage, in others it does not and has to be removed/drained. 

When "drilling" is mentioned, it is exactly what you probably think it is—they are talking about drilling a hole into the child's head to relieve the bleeding. This procedure, which has been used for various reasons throughout history, is still occasionally used for such bleeds today (though the equipment used is different). It can be performed cleanly, minimally, and successfully. 

Hathel mentions that the child looked about ten or eleven (in "Elf years")—this might be somewhere between four and five. 

_The Valar_ may be likened to "higher powers". _Mandos_ is generally recognized as the Vala of the dead. 

I know this first chapter might have been confusing—things do run more smoothly in the next, as the adrenaline rushes will have worn off by then. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters, places, events, or concepts are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien Estate. **

**Thank you to each of you who reviewed.** This has been something very different for me to write, and knowing that there are a few people willing to spend a little time with these rather unfortunate characters has given me something of a boost. Responses to your reviews follow the chapter. 

As always, anyone's comments and questions are more than welcome. 

--Aranel (aranels@hotmail.com)

~*~~*~~*~

**Chapter 2**

Late summer evenings in Imladris were beautiful. The paths that led to the House of Elrond were lit with tall lamps, the soft light dimly coming through the frosted glass. In one of the gardens the leaves of a weeping silver pear tree gleamed faintly in the moonlight, trailing into a small pond where the reflections of bright stars glittered on the night-dark water. Nearby a white stone bench resided beneath the tree's long branches, inviting wanderers and lovers to sit and watch the stars, the water, the moon. 

The selfsame moon that illumined the leaves and petals in the garden flooded through the windows of the infirmary's long hallways, letting chairs and bookshelves cast their long shadows on the wooden floors. It was quiet now, save for soft voices in one or two of the rooms. 

A full day. The sun had made her complete journey across the sky, and not once in all that light and brightness had the little one opened his eyes long enough to notice. There had only been slight flutters of the dark lashes, revealing for a few brief seconds distant grey eyes. 

Nimaron sat in a chair, rubbing a thumb along the polished arm as he let his gaze return to the bed nearby. Always before he had thought children, even those hurt or unwell, looked undeniably peaceful in their beds, their small limbs tangled in layers of sheets and warm blankets. There was a goodness and calmness in the sleep of children, in knowing that for a few short hours they lay undisturbed, their minds mulling over their favorite hopes and wishes. 

When the worst had seemed over they carefully moved the little one to a bed, putting him in one of the quietest rooms. For some reason Nimaron had taken some small comfort in this, convinced that the child would look somehow better nestled under the white sheets and blankets. 

He did not. If anything, the calm atmosphere of the little room made any restless movement on the child's part more noticeable, and it was impossible to picture him resting easily when with every glance the healer could see the dark bruises and painful swelling, the white square of a bandage that he had patted into place himself. Try as he might, Nimaron could not imagine gathering such a damaged child up in a blanket for a sleepy walk under the stars or a few storybooks in a rocking chair. He rubbed his fingers over his temples, as though trying to massage some kind of peace into his mind. What was left for this child? What had he himself saved him for? 

"Nimaron?" someone quietly entered the room, pulling the door half-closed. 

"Lord Elrond," the younger healer straightened in his chair, moving to get up before being dismissed with the wave of a hand. 

"How is he?" the ruler of Imladris moved to the bed, sitting down on the edge and silently looking over the child, "I was not informed until after the evening meal, but Aglariel's report was delivered to me." 

The account had not been very helpful, for it was merely a collection of odd notes and unanswered questions, along with a map scribbled over in red and blue ink. It had been difficult to begin reading it…Imladris and the surrounding areas were supposed to be safe. Children were supposed to be safe. 

But here was a child found only about two and half leagues from the borders of the city, unconscious and deliberately hurt. The fact that there were fractures on both sides of his head, as well as no more than a few bruises on his body otherwise was a testament to that. No signs of his parents. No signs of his attackers. The guards left to search the area had found nothing…no traces of the child's other belongings, of a nearby struggle, even of departing footprints. There was only a small, badly injured elfling in a simple green tunic, and Aglariel had been able to make very little sense of that. 

A plain tunic of green could hail from any of the current Elven settlements, be they Lorien or the Havens or Mirkwood, or any of the smaller groups that made their homes in unknown corners of the forests and woods. When Aglariel had asked the healers attending the child, they had made no note of identifying braids or jewelry, and the child's dark hair and grey eyes could place him among almost any group of Elves. The Lord of Imladris sighed, reaching over to inspect the bandage on the right side of the child's head, "Aglariel says it was your choice to drill, Nimaron."

"Yes," Nimaron responded hesitantly, unsure of the master healer's thoughts on the decision. Choices in such situations were rarely made without the approval of Lord Elrond, and Nimaron could not remember being in such a position before. The decision was irreversibly made now, and he was not yet sure if he should be relieved or regretful at his choice. At this point he was not sure if he would ever know. 

Elrond lifted the bandage carefully, scrutinizing the spot underneath for a moment before continuing, "This looks all right; the bleeding seems to have stopped for the most part. The dressing might as well be changed now." He expertly ran his fingers over the child's head, allowing his mind to construct a picture out of what he could feel, "The fractures, from what I can tell, should heal on their own, and the swelling and bruising will go down over the next few weeks." He paused, turning his full attention to the younger healer, "How conscious has he been, Nimaron?"

Nimaron washed and dried his hands, gathering up a clean dressing and bandage roll, "He was unresponsive when Hathel brought him in, but since the pressure was relieved we have noticed him opening his eyes a little, shifting around. Eithel tested him for pain response before she left and I do not think he liked it." 

"That is promising then," Elrond nodded slowly, getting up, "What are you going to do when he wakes up?"

"What do you mean?" 

"Someone is going to have to be here when he wakes up," Elrond paused, looking pointedly at the younger healer, "I doubt that it is going to go smoothly. Your medical reports state that there was bleeding from his ears—the membranes are most certainly ruptured then, which means that the child will not be able to hear anything you say. You will not be able to assure him that he is safe or tell him where he is or who you are. I suggest you consider that before he awakens." 

Nimaron nodded numbly at the instructions, glancing at the child's face as he changed the bandage. There were so many times when the master healer sounded almost unbearably sensible. Lord Elrond seemed to be treating this case just as practically as any other—was he not upset about what had happened? Was he not concerned about the lasting effects of the child's injuries? 

"Was it right—what I did?" Nimaron suddenly asked. If Lord Elrond was so very practical and wise, then he must know, "Should I have…should I have let him pass?"

Elrond regarded the younger healer for a long moment before sitting on the side of the bed again. He really did not like to allow himself to dwell on cases like this one—there was so much pain that seemed to pass to anyone closely involved with the particular patients, and if he were to let himself get more than professionally interested he would have drowned in all of the hurt by now. He gestured slightly to the elfling, beginning slowly, "This little person, Nimaron, is someone's child. That is something in and of itself. No parent would ever wish this on their child, on any child; but much less they would wish death, not while there was still a chance of something good. If you ever have a child of your own you will understand better." He managed a thin smile, rising and heading for the door, "Now, I suggest that you go home and rest for awhile."

"But…but shouldn't I be here? In case anything happens?" Nimaron asked, finished with the bandaging. It was surprising how quickly Lord Elrond could switch between pensive moods and practical advice. 

"I doubt the child is going to wake up before morning, and on my way out I will send someone to stay here through the night," Elrond stated, "You will be of small use in a state of exhaustion." 

Nimaron nodded again, unable to argue against that point. He returned the remains of the bandage roll to a basin in the alcove outside of the room, watching Lord Elrond leave. 

"Nimaron," Elrond paused in his departure to turn around, "I believe you have acquired a new charge for yourself."

Nimaron glanced back into the small room, responding in a voice that did not seem entirely his own, "I suppose I have." 

~*~

"He was awake?" Nimaron stared at Eithel. He had hurried back to the infirmary after getting up to find the other healer carefully bathing the child with warm water.

"You could call it that," Eithel responded, pushing the bowl of water and towel onto a nearby chair. She picked up a comb, slowly picking through the dark strands of the child's hair, "The poor little one was so exhausted, but we were able to get him to drink a little tea before he slipped away again. We tried to rouse him, but he was not going to have any of that." She tenderly smoothed the child's hair with a hand, "You will be coming around again soon, will you not, Little One? You have just been so busy healing, haven't you? That is hard work for such a little person." 

Why did she speak to him even if he could not hear her? It must be something that mothers did. Nimaron moved to sit on the bed, watching as Eithel loosely braided the elfling's hair, "He did not have any problems with drinking the tea?"

"No. I think if he would have had more he probably would have been sick…" Eithel tied off the braid, realization hitting her, "No…he didn't have any problems with drinking it, and he was blinking and moving his mouth and everything. The facial nerves must be just fine." She noticed a sigh of relief from Nimaron, and reached over to rub the other healer's shoulder. She could not imagine how it felt to make such a decision, to have been assigned to such a child, "He is going to be just fine, Aron, just fine." The lady smiled softly, putting one of the elfling's tiny hands into Nimaron's as she got up to leave, "I have to return home. My Silima is going to be looking for her breakfast. There is tea in the alcove if you want some." 

Nimaron rubbed his thumb over the limp little fingers after Eithel was gone, looking at the small face again before getting up. He stepped out into the alcove, pouring warm brown tea into a china cup. The healer stirred a spoonful of honey into the beverage, watching the thick substance dissolve. 

Just fine. 

_How?_

~*~

Grey eyes stared blearily into the shadows, slowly relaxing as things began to take shape. Everything had seemed so shadowy lately, even in dreams…though he could not remember any of those very well. There was a chair with a towel on it…or a blanket…or something…and here in front of his face were his own fingers, half-wrapped in the folds of crisp, clean sheets. Clean sheets were so nice…they made sleeping easier…and it would be so nice to sleep…

Oh…but his head hurt! The sharp pain that he half-remembered—or thought he remembered—was gone, but instead there was a dull ache all over, seeming to shift and throb in places. Sleeping would help it to go away…it would just go away…

He blinked again, his eyes opening and gradually focusing on a window, a little bird outside—a little brown bird—perched on a nearby branch. Maybe he would watch it, just for a tiny bit before going back to sleep. Hopefully it would sing. On such a sunny day it should happily call _tswitt-witt-witt__! Hello little elfling!_

The tiny feathered body hopped about on the spindly branch, and after a moment the dark head began to bob up and down before the tiny creature stretched its neck, the minute beak opening and closing. The actions of the song were all there—he had watched them in the trees a hundred times—but where was the sound? _Where was the sound? _

And then he remembered. 

~*~~*~~*~

**Author's Notes: It is hard to say how long it would take for our elfling to 'wake up'…the times vary for different people, and when you figure in the fact that he is an elf, if gets even more difficult. The fact that he opens his eyes spontaneously, responds to administered pain (do not worry…a typical way to test this is to press on a fingernail), and moves around without being prompted are all very promising. If he could hear (and Lord Elrond is right in stating that he cannot [the 'membranes' that he mentions are the eardrums]), he might also respond to verbal commands. It is also very typical that, when he does start to wake up, he is very sleepy and somewhat disoriented. **

You may have noticed that, aside from the surgical site, the elfling's head is not bandaged, even though he has skull fractures. Unless these fractures are depressed (think of parts of an eggshell being pushed inside the egg), they usually heal on their own and don't cause much of a problem all by themselves. Because the skull is so thick (even in children) it is far more likely that a fracture would be like a long crack. 

**Responses to Reviews**

A big thank you to each of you…all of your reviews were very encouraging, and they do give me that extra push to continue this story. 

***daw the minstrel: The rabid plot-bunnies have been biting for a few months now, and DofN managed to ask enough questions that needed answering. I would not have wanted to make the decision either…it is easy to say you'd decide one way, but I think that when you're actually in the position a lot more floods you. **

***Dragon-of-the-north: The little elfling in the prologue is Little One, and aside from a few fragment-y style memories, it is the only time we'll see him before the story takes place. : (**

As for the place and people they are talking about in the prologue…that will come later on in the story, as will the "fate" of the child's parents. 

The world can seem especially peaceful or wonderful right before you realize that something unfortunate has happened, and it doesn't stop for anyone. It reminds me very much of reading magazines at the hospital during codes. 

Mardil is harsh, but as a surgeon who has probably been seeing the most gruesome injuries over the years (and seeing several people fade off even after being 'healed'), I think he would also be hardened and…pained…to a certain degree. 

Thank you a million times over for your questions and encouragement…the chapters probably would never have gotten up otherwise. *hugs*

***Bookworm85: I am glad that you enjoyed the first chapter, and hope the story continues to intrigue you. This is something different for me, so we will have to see how I do. *g*  *points to genre blank* I changed it a bit—thank-you for your input on that…I have always been horrible at specifying genre. **

***Freya writes: You are going to have to let me know if I make any major medical mistakes in this story! I am a nursing student, so digging up the information was interesting for me (woo-hoo---burr holes and pediatric coma scales!). **

I'm glad you liked Nimaron and Mardil's differing views…these sorts of decisions are not made simply, and in a setting like this I think they would be even harder than in our own world (since such an event would not come up as often, and Elves are not, under normal circumstances, disabled in any way). 

***Lutris: I am glad you enjoyed the first chapter, especially Nim and the other healer's struggles. The medical notes didn't seem to work well when put right into the story, and I am glad you found them helpful where they were. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, places, events, and concepts are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien Estate. **

Thank you to those of you who reviewed. I really do appreciate each and every message, especially for this story. 

--Aranel (aranels@hotmail.com)

~*~~*~~*~

**Chapter 3**

In the gardens that framed the back section of the Imladris infirmary, a finch lighted on the spindly brown branch of a young maple. It hopped along its perch, finding a place between the tender green leaves where the sun shone with early morning warmth. Such pleasantries merited some small thanks, and so the bird raised its tiny voice in song, a fitting offer to those who had shaped the world with music themselves. 

Nimaron leaned against a wall in the alcove, slowly continuing to stir his tea as he watched the finch outside. A glance back into the little room showed him that the child had shifted slightly in the bed, still just a small lump under the white sheets. The healer took a long sip of his tea, his mind never ceasing to mull over his recent choices yet again as he stared into his drink. What would he do when the little one woke up? What would happen? What…

A sudden cry caught the healer's attention, rapidly rising in volume and intensity.  The teacup was hastily abandoned on the counter in the alcove, tipping and overturning to spill steaming liquid over its matching saucer and a few blank papers. Nimaron leaned into the little room for a moment, frozen for a few long seconds before actually doing anything. 

The child was still in bed, his eyes tightly closed and his small hands ever at his ears. Pulling, slapping, poking…as though through all of this he might be able to force some sound into them. Equally paining were the cries the little one emitted…such varying, panicked cries, and within them Nimaron could catch what sounded very much like calls for 'Ada' and 'Nana'. _Where were Ada and Nana? _They should be here. Not anywhere but right here. 

In half a moment the healer was sitting on the bed, haphazardly drawing the child within the sheets onto his lap and catching the flying hands within his own. At this the elfling only stiffened, continuing to cry out. Nimaron released the struggling little fists, moving to hold the child with one arm as he rubbed the quivering back in circles with his free hand, murmuring the usual words of comfort even if only he could hear them. Now free, the elfling's hands pounded against the healer's shoulders and pulled at his hair, as though there was some need to lash out. 

Never, _never_, had he ever heard a child scream like this. There was something more than the usual pain in the little one's cries, something angry and hurt and—more than anything else—something terrified. He had heard hints of these cries before, but always they had been quickly soothed away by a concerned mother or father or other close adult, hardly lasting long enough to be considered. Always there had been a comforter, _always_. 

There was no ada, no nana now…only a healer working on impulse, and a very frightened child. 

~*~

Where were Ada and Nana? Where were they? The child shut his eyes against the unfamiliar surroundings, against the undeniable truth that this was not where Ada and Nana were. 

A swirl of memories was in his aching head, seeming to slosh back and forth without forming a good picture. 

_'Ada! Ada!'_

_'Stop!__ Wait! Valar, do not!'_

_'You wanted this, did you not? By your own words…'_

_ 'No!'_

_'Ada, help me!'_

He could remember being held, held in a way that Ada and Nana had never held him, and being so scared…so scared…and Ada and Nana…Ada and Nana had not been able to help…

The world that was now exploded with the white light from the world that was then as he edged open his eyes, wanting desperately for it to just stop. Slowly the sensation of a hand rubbing his back edged its way into his consciousness, and he felt himself gently rocked by someone who was most definitely not Ada or Nana, but who did seem bad either. 

He drew in a long breath, feeling the air shudder within him before surrendering to whoever it was that held him now. There was some slight shred of relief in focusing on the repetitive circles on his back, in dropping all resistance to simply be held. 

~*~

Nimaron felt the small body slump against his chest, the child's panicked cries now reduced to shuddering sobs. The grey eyes stayed half-lidded as the little one drew in trembling breaths, having chosen some spot on the pale wooden wall to stare at. 

Was it right? In grace and mercy, was it right to make a child endure this? The healer struggled to let a long breath out smoothly, fighting to keep a rational perspective. The decision was made. The child was alive. He was awake. It was the responsibility of a healer to ensure that he received what he required in order to heal. Nimaron rubbed the little one's back absently, trying to determine most critical of the child's needs. 

It quickly became apparent that he could not fulfill a single one. 

~*~

Aglariel heard the child's cries from her desk in the hallway, the legs of her chair grating against the wooden floor as she pushed it out with her feet. She hurried to the little room at the end of the hall, leaning through the doorway to see Nimaron sitting on the bed, slowly rocking the child on his lap. 

"Is he all right?" she walked towards the bed, sitting next to the other healer. She was not sure exactly how to respond to the elfling, but former experience had taught her that Aron might want to talk at least a little, "Did he say anything?"

"He called for 'Ada' and 'Nana'," Nimaron responded quietly, pulling the blankets up around the child's shoulders, "Would you fix a cup of chamomile tea…no, valerian, with honey? The decoction from earlier this morning should still be in the preparation room, just be sure to halve the dose." He did not feel entirely at ease with giving the elfling something that would only give him a false sense of calm, but it seemed better than no comfort at all. 

"I can do that," Aglariel started to get up, relieved to have something helpful to do. It was unnerving to only sit there watching as Nimaron tried to soothe the obviously upset child, especially since she had absolutely no idea what to do herself. "Is there anything else you need?"

 "Would you mind asking Eithel if she has something that he might wear? And…" Nimaron searched his mind for something that might reassure the little one. Other children he had treated usually clung to some scrap of a blanket or stuffed animal when they were unwell or upset, huddled up on their parents' laps all the while. The healer sighed heavily, noticing how the elfling had wound his fingers into the sheets, nuzzling them to the side of his face. "Do you have any idea where his parents are, Aglariel?"

"None," the lady headed out of the room, "Hathel and a few departed earlier this morning to visit a nearby settlement; perhaps they can gather some information." She paused, standing near the door, "The only person who really knows what happened is the little one, Nimaron. If he says anything, _anything_, tell me." 

~*~

Silima stirred milk into her cereal, watching steam rise as the table was splattered with bits of her breakfast. Her small fingers stretched across the table to pull over the spice shaker and a small bowl of raisins that her mother had set out, sure that Nana would not mind if she helped herself. The little girl pushed back against her chair, bracing her bare feet against one of the table legs in order to lean back just far enough to see Nana talking with Lady Aglariel in the front room. 

"That's mine!" The blond-haired child was out of her chair in a moment, scampering over to where her mother was folding the long top to one of her night outfits before putting it into a basket. Baskets were generally given away as gifts…there had been a basket of jams and jellies for Lady Aglariel's house party, and a basket of little knitted booties and washcloths to welcome the neighbors' baby. The child twisted a few fingers in her blond hair, observing Nana fold the matching shorts, "That's mine, Nana."

"I know, Silmë," Eithel paused for a moment to look at her daughter, "We need something for an elfling at the infirmary to wear though, and I thought he could borrow this until we find him something else."

"Doesn't he have his own?" Silima pulled the long, pale green shirt out of the basket, holding it up. It was not a favorite…in fact, she could not remember wearing it more than once or twice. Nana had not had time to embroider any flowers across the front or to add any scalloped lace to the hem. "Can't his nana bring him something?"

"We do not know where his ada and nana are," Eithel told her daughter gently, folding the top again as it was handed back, "The guards found him lost and hurt on the path." Noting her daughter's concerned look, Eithel reached over and smoothed the child's hair, "Isn't it good that they found him, Silmë? Now Nimaron can take good care of him at the infirmary, and the soldiers can look for his ada and nana. Nimaron asked if you knew of something that might be nice for him to have while he gets better; why don't you go pick something out?"

"He is little like me, right Nana?" Silima picked up the pajama top again, trying to figure out how big or small a person would fit into it. 

"Maybe a little younger," Eithel responded, wondering just how many times she would have to re-fold the article of clothing. 

Silima folded it herself this time, placing the bundled cloth into the basket, "Can we play?"

Eithel stood up, lifting the basket, "Oh, Silmë, his head is hurt very bad, and he is not feeling very good right now. I do not think he will want to play."

Silima let out a disappointed sigh, then looked up at her mother again, "What about tomorrow?" 

~*~

"There we are, little one," Eithel guided one of the elfling's arms through a sleeve of the nightshirt, tugging the garment onto the child's small frame, "I think that is better." From the child she got hardly a response: by the time she had arrived, he had taken to staring at the wall with half-closed eyes, Nimaron still rubbing his back in slow circles. He had shuddered and flinched a little at being moved, then regarded her for barely a second before turning his attention back to the wall. 

"Silima picked this out," Eithel handed a thin picture book to Nimaron, "We borrowed it from the city's library awhile ago."

"Thank you," the other healer took it with his free hand, setting it down on the bed before easing the child off of his lap. The little one stiffened again slightly, relaxing once placed back onto the bed and carefully covered with the blankets. 

Nimaron opened the book then, glad to see that the first pages were awash with a blending of pale blues, depicting a noon-bright sky over boats on the sea. He rubbed the child's shoulder softly, trying to bring his attention to the pictures. The grey eyes lingered on the illustration for a moment, and then the child allowed his small body to rest against the healer's arm. 

The tea must have relaxed the little one to the point of allowing exhaustion to win over anxiety, Nimaron thought, noting the way the elfling had curled up near him, the fingers of one small hand now rubbing at the teary grey eyes. 

Or perhaps he wanted to see the picture better. 

~*~~*~~*~

**Author's Notes**

Valerian is an herb. The tea from its roots depresses the central nervous system, and works to ease anxiety and sudden emotional distress. Chamomile is more often chosen for children, but works more as a stress reliever. (So, valerian would be more like a mild sedative; chamomile like a relaxant.)Both also work well as sleep-aids. It is not the wisest thing in the world to sedate someone with a head wound, but as in some cases, our healer has to weigh both risks and benefits.  

**Responses to Reviews (Thank you, thank you, thank you for your time!)**

***Dragon-of-the-north: Thank you for all of your support (in reviews and otherwise) of this story…it makes the writing and posting and all worth it, and manages to keep my imagination going as well. *g***

Nimaron has yet to decide if he's done the right thing or not, and as you pointed out, will have to make that decision all by himself. Different things keep coming up and supporting either side of the argument…poor Nim indeed. 

*g* I'm glad you enjoyed Lord Elrond. Because he is such a common character in fan fiction, I did not want to make him come across in a way that might seem out of character. And yes…I think he would have something of a different view on the situation. For one thing, he is much older than many of the other people in the story, and his position would probably dictate his response to a certain degree. 

The part with the bird on the windowsill came about on its own…Little One's thoughts at this point are something completely different for me to write, and so I am relieved to find out that they have had the desired (but rather unfortunate) effect. Originally I planned to leave his early thoughts out altogether, but, as you well know, this particular elfling is rather demanding, and demanded that his point of view be included. 

***daw the minstrel: Was the bird scene pathetic in the true sense of the word, or in an over-the-top sort of way? For some reason that term always manages to snag me with its various connotations. *g***

I was rather anxious to get into the elfling's point of view as well, unhappy though it is…the characters do not seem quite real for me until they've had their own say. 

***Lutris: Yes, our elfling is awake! But very upset too. : (**

Being Nim's charge means that the elfling will be medically cared for by Nimaron, just as Legolas is Nim's charge in the other stories. But you are right, Nimaron is also something of a family for this elfling. We will find out what has happened to his family later in the story. 

***Anyone Else: Thank you for taking the time to check out this rather different story. If you have an extra moment, please let me know what you think or at least that you are reading. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: See preceding chapters.**

I am sincerely sorry for taking so long to update—there are things in this chapter that I spent a good chunk of time debating, as well as things that will appear in future chapters.

Thank you again to everyone who has reviewed—I can only say again that each of your comments is very much appreciated. 

--Aranel (aranels@hotmail.com)

**Author's Notes and Responses to Reviews follow the chapter. **

~*~~*~~*~

**Chapter 4**

The sky was so very, very blue. It was usually blue, of course, but at this moment it was a blue that one could almost wrap themselves in if they so chose. White clouds drifted across the brilliant expanse, and the highest branches of the trees stretched out to touch it. Anor in her place smiled, pale and yellow today, and spread her soft, sunny blanket over the treetops and tall, pale grass. There was very little wind, and it moved the grasses and leaves only a fraction at a time, the changes barely perceptible. 

He could remember a day like this one, lying on the fraying brown picnic blanket between Ada and Nana. He had taken off his shoes and been rubbing his toes in a bare spot of dusty dirt between the scratchy little patches of dry grass. Nana had been telling him a story about…about something he could not remember anymore. It had been a nice story though, and Ada had been interrupting to tell him whenever a bird lighted on a branch or a chipmunk paused between its hurried gatherings to look at them. 

It was wonderful to have another day like that one now. The sky was blue, and the day was warm, and the birds were singing. 

~*~

"He must be asleep again," Aglariel walked into the room given to the elfling, finding Nimaron still sitting on the bed next to the child. The little one rested awkwardly against the pillows and Aron's side, one hand tightly wrapped in the bed sheets and the other grasping the curve of his right ear.

"Yes," Nimaron responded, carefully lifting the child so that he could get up, "It is not going to hurt him any."

"We held a meeting in the round room," Aglariel watched as Nimaron propped the child's shoulders up so that he could arrange the pillows to support his head. She had always admired that in him—how gentle he was with the tiny people he treated. It had seemed an almost laughable matter so many years ago, the first time she had seen him sitting across from a worried young father and his tiny daughter, the little girl's foot propped up on his towel-covered knees while he picked slivers of glass out of it. It had seemed a most natural position to him, since he was able to talk to the child the whole time, occasionally peering up from his work.  No one had taught him _that_. 

And regardless of the numerous times she had watched him, she had never quite learned it. Aglariel drew in a long breath, returning her thoughts to the actual conversation, "I've gone over all of the information again, with Seregon of the Guard. A few people have also gone over your medical reports from yesterday—you should have come."

Nimaron nodded, releasing the child's ear from his fingers and carefully pressing the ear forward to look at the purpled skin behind it, "I would have, but it was important that I be here. You saw how he was when he first awoke."  

"Well, perhaps you could answer a few questions now. We put together some papers for you to fill out, and Seregon wants to meet with you as soon as possible. I need to know how long you think he was hurt before Hathel and his company found him, and what sort of blow could have caused the breaks." Noting the slight disapproval that played across Nimaron's face, Aglariel added, "In case there is a prosecution, Aron. It is important." She continued, laying a folder on the foot of the bed, "Some of the healers want more detailed information on his mental state, and they want you to include an assessment and description of his eardrums in your next report, along with information on his overall health."

"I did that," Nimaron interrupted, reaching over to take the folder and sifting through the contents to find his report, "It is not any less detailed than I normally do. Did they miss this?"

"No," Aglariel pressed her lips together for a moment, "They just want more information."

"For what?" Nimaron looked up at her, his brow creased. For as long as he had known her, Aglariel had always had a persistent habit of gathering up information, necessary or otherwise. 

For all his gentleness and patience, Aron must have bartered a good portion of whatever common sense the Valar had granted him. Aglariel sighed, "Research. Records. An injury like the child's is not particularly common, and an especially detailed record might be beneficial in the future. A few asked if they could come and look him over themselves."

"No, I'd prefer to limit that number of people he sees for now," Nimaron retrieved a pen to begin the long job of filling out the papers, his voice holding an uncommon aggravated edge, "Unless they can aid him somehow, perhaps. I will add to the reports, and Eithel has been here to verify everything; that should be sufficient." 

~*~

Nimaron strode down the hall, the folder of papers under an arm while carrying a cup of tea, still hot, and a meat pastry, now cold, in his hands. It would be good to sit outside for a little while, at least—just long enough to take a light lunch and to fill out the shower of paperwork without any interruptions. 

They wanted information for prosecutions and research and records. He would admit that it was all very important, and he would give it to them, but a certain part of him regretted that they did not ask him to find out the child's like or dislike of certain foods or what he was afraid of or the caregivers he liked best. 

It was indeed a frightened little person they were dealing with, after all, not a broken head. 

The healer settled down onto the bench outside his charge's window, able to glance in every now and again. He spread the papers out over his lap, taking a long sip of the minty tea before searching for his pen. His fingers strayed over the deep engravings in the bench's back, still there after years of weathering and time. Names…

"Here, Aron? Is this where you want it?" someone interrupted his work a while later, and Nimaron glanced up to see one of the young healing apprentices stumbling near him with the heavy base of a birdbath carried haphazardly in his arms. 

"What are you doing with that?" Nimaron pushed his papers back onto the bench, getting up to help the other elf lower the pedestal onto the ground, "This belongs further towards the south side, Ovoril. And you shouldn't have carried it yourself, you might have strained your back."

"Mardil told me to move it over here," Ovoril responded, breathing heavily but grinning, and glad to have the heavy stone back on the ground. He smoothed a few loose strands of dark hair back into the simple twist at the back of his head, "He said you wanted something for that little elf to look at. Personally, I would have chosen some toy—you know, soldiers or a boat or something like that—but he said that it had to be this thing. Would you help me with the basin?"

"Mardil told you to move this?" Nimaron lifted his side of the basin, making his way back to the pedestal with Ovoril. 

"Yes," Ovoril settled the basin into place, oblivious to the disagreements between the two healers. He batted at a few more wayward strands of hair, this time pushing them behind his ears, "That Eithel just brought by a basket too. She's nice, you know. If I'd have known, I'd have signed up to be her apprentice instead of Mardil's. She's a lot more patient and that. Or yours, maybe, except you weren't taking one, on account of you only being back here for a few months, and I don't really want to work with little tots and them all the time."

"Mardil was my teacher, for a time," Nimaron dusted off his hands, surveying the birdbath, "He can be difficult, but you will learn a lot from him."

"I suppose," Ovoril shrugged, "He's letting me take out stitches today. Look, that Aglariel is at the window waving for you. I'll bet if I was her apprentice I would be putting stitches in by now." 

Nimaron gathered his things, heading back into the infirmary, "Perhaps, though it is more likely that you'd be filing her paperwork."

~*~

As he entered the alcove outside the elfling's small room, Nimaron paused, staring at the shelf that ran across one wall. Despite his earlier thoughts, they had not forgotten. 

There were a few small bundles of late summer flowers tied with ribbons, several little paper cards, and a wide wicker basket containing a few sets of clean children's clothing. On top of the soft garments lay a few toys and games, and folded next to these was a beautiful little blanket of white cloth covered in embroidery. 

"My mother made it for her first grandchild years ago," Aglariel commented, smiling a little, "She said that it was highly unlikely that she would ever acquire the aforementioned grandchild though, and she decided that your charge might like it after hearing about him." She unfolded the little blanket, smoothing a hand over the stitched swirls that made blue, white, and silver stars, "The clothing is from Eithel. It is just a few things…some of her friends have children about the same size." 

"Thank you," Nimaron managed, taking the blanket when Aglariel held it out. The fabric was soft from being handled during the painstaking embroidery, and he was rather shocked that Rhîwith had simply given the blanket away. 

Aglariel nodded, walking into the room, "Mardil had the birdbath outside moved over to the window, and brought the rocker in from the sunroom." 

"The rocking chair too?" Nimaron looked at the other healer, surprised yet again. 

"He is not sorry, if that is what you think," Aglariel stayed in the doorway, now grinning widely, "He said that if you had to keep the poor child on this side of Mandos' doors, then he should at least have a nice place to sit." She glanced towards the bed, where the elfling was just beginning to stretch and blink again, and her look sobered, "Tell me if you would like a hand with all of the paperwork. Maybe I'll come and sit too, if I get a chance."

~*~

Nimaron sat down on the side of the child's bed, relieved when the gray eyes opened to give the room a few long glances instead of immediately closing out the new surroundings again. The elfling blinked a few more times, then immediately began crying as before, although there was no screaming or calling this time. And, oddly enough, when the bleary gray eyes rested on the healer, two little arms were immediately thrust out, an obvious demand to be gathered up. 

~*~

He didn't care who picked him up. He just wanted to be held right now, to be pulled onto somebody's lap and cuddled until he felt better. 

The child found himself on somebody's knees, allowed to snuggle his face into soft folds of cloth that smelled faintly of lemons. He knew that smell…from earlier in the day. It was the same person who had held him before. He wasn't sure why that made him feel better, but he tilted his head a little to look at the person's face. 

The lemony person had dark hair like Ada and Nana's, and eyes that were easy to look at. He reached up to touch one of the person's ears, noticing that he smiled suddenly at that. It must have tickled. His hands went to his own ears then, fingering the curves and pressing here and there just in case maybe that would make them work. It hurt, but he wanted them to work again—right now! Right now, right now, _right now_! 

~*~

Nimaron had been slightly surprised at how readily the elfling had planted himself on his lap, even grabbing at folds of his tunic before peering up for a moment. The very slightest ghost of a smile had played over the tiny face at getting a surprised smile from the healer, right before the little one's fingers strayed to inspect his ears again. 

In only seconds the child was pulling and slapping at his bruised ears, suddenly nearly screeching out the word, 'Now!' when he had been only sniffling a moment ago. 

"It is all right, little one," Nimaron heard himself soothing, quickly intervening by grabbing up the small star blanket and catching the elfling's hands in that. Apparently surprised and pacified for the moment, the child actually quieted. 

It suddenly became apparent that while he had thought he knew a good deal about healing an elfling, he had really only just opened the door to such knowledge before now. 

~*~

The elfling found his hands gently guided away from his head by the lemony elf, given instead the folds of a blanket to grab at, the same blanket that was being used to pat at the stingy tears that were dribbling from his eyes. He hadn't realized he'd been crying, but now that he knew, he did not really care. 

He wound his hands in the blanket, gazing fuzzily at the stars all over it and finally rubbing the snuggly fabric against his face. It reminded him very much of being at home, with Ada and Nana. He fingered a star, a blue one, thinking about them. 

They would come. They would find him. Then they would sit with him on this big bed and hold him on their laps. Ada would wrap the blanket around his shoulders and rock him and say he was 'snug as a bug in a rug', and Nana would kiss his forehead and then his cheeks and then his hands, so that he would have one or two extra kisses in case he woke up in the middle of the night. 

He shifted on the lemony elf's lap, trying to get the blanket around his shoulders and opening one of his hands. Maybe Nana's last kiss was still there. Maybe he could keep it until she and Ada found him. 

And maybe this was not such a bad place to wait for them. 

~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~

**Author's Notes**

You may have noticed that our elfling ("Little One") hears birds in his dream, and imagines his ada (daddy) saying something to him towards the end of the chapter. This may seem unnecessary to mention, but I've noticed a stereotype that people who are deaf as a result of an injury cannot hear sounds 'in their heads' anymore. Though this is possible if there is brain damage, it is far more likely that Little One would gradually forget how certain things sound, if he forgets at all. 

You may also notice that a good number of people are aware of Little One's presence and present condition—I doubt the Imladris infirmary would be as committed to confidentiality (keeping patient information private) as modern hospitals are. 

For those of you who have never read about Nimaron before and might be questioning his abilities, it is true that he has never handled a case like this before. Some people who 'know' Nim have compared him to a pediatrician, and in my small Legolas fics he works almost side-by-side with Legolas' family for quite a few years. (I am aware that not everyone may enjoy that version of Legolas, so while my 'universe' shall remain intact, Legolas will most likely never be mentioned _by name in this story.) Though he doesn't have any children of his own (he is not married either), he has worked intimately with families and observed parents and their children in a variety of situations._

Finally, since Little One doesn't speak English, 'snug as a bug in a rug' would not rhyme and likely wouldn't be a popular saying. I liked it though, so it is there. 

**Responses to Reviews**

***daw the minstrel: I wanted to break the stereotype of LOTR foundlings—usually their parents are dead at the scene, they have little/no hesitation to cling to whoever it is that finds them, and they heal within a day or two. The fate of Little One's parents will be revealed later on in the story.**

***Dragon-of-the-north: Well, I have finally updated again…within a month, at least. *guilty look* Thank you for all of your wonderful comments and encouragement, and for keeping it all up between updates!**

I wanted to sort of tie each chapter to the one before it, and scenery seems to serve well enough. As for the pretty, peaceful bits standing in contrast to the rest of the story, that is intentional. 

Ah, your new assumptions…I will reply to those in an email when I next hear from you. I should have responded to them sooner. (Or did I? It's been so long that I don't even remember anymore.)

I'm glad you like Silima—after everything in the chapter, I had to have some sort of balance. Silmë has been fun to develop as a character—she will be dropping in again, as the "kid's eye view" on certain bits are just way too appealing. As for the question of whether or not she will still want to play with Little One after learning that he's deaf—probably. She's quite the persistent 'little mother' type (think Cúran with a self-confident edge). 

Thank you for all of your comments on the bits with Little One as well. *hands over the tissues* I am sorry Alagant was upset—hopefully the blanket bit helped. 

***Lutris: Thank you for the suggestion on the vibrations—it may make it into the story at one point or another, so keep your eyes open! I'm glad that you've been finding the medical notes helpful. And… *guilty look*…I'm sorry for such a late update!******

***FarFlung: Thank you for checking this out—it has been difficult to write (mainly because avoiding certain clichés has necessitated writing very different emotional scenes), and I imagine that it is not the easiest story to read either. **

Goodness…I'm a sucker for elflings too, and rest assured that I would never be happy with this story unless Little One would be fairly all right at the end of it. Call me sappy, but I tend to stick by old Bilbo's belief that books (or stories) should end well. 

***Dragon Confused: It is a sad story, but the idea has been bothering me like a pebble in my shoe for a long time. I imagine the elves would have a significantly different view on the situation than humans would—since as a people they are so centered on the spoken word (they call themselves "Quendi", after all), I imagined the idea of a deaf elf would just hit some like a brick.**

Thank-you for your encouragement (aka _nudging_) outside of the reviews as well—Little One and his wooden spoon are not always enough to prod me.****

***anna: Hello, and thank you for reading! Little One's (and his parents') story will all be revealed eventually. *Little One strains on tiptoe to be picked up and huggled by this especially cuddly reviewer*******

***rikwen: Being Nimaron's "charge" means that the elfling's medical care is in Nim's hands. Because the child's parents are not present, he has authority (unless overruled by Lord Elrond) to decide who is allowed to see the child, what sorts of treatments might be used, etc. This includes choosing which healers will attend him, and eventually deciding who to place him with if his parents still don't show by the time he's well enough to leave the infirmary.  Doctors today do not have this kind of control—however, I imagine elven healers having fairly close relationships with their patients and the patient's family, mainly because there would be a lower healer-patient ratio (since elves don't get sick) and because of the issues with caring for wearied/grieving spirits. **

For the likelihood of Nimaron acting as a foster parent, see the author's notes. You've asked some excellent questions! I adore it when reviewers do that!

I am a slow updater, but I like to think that I will eventually finish all of my stories—so never fear, this will not get abandoned!

***Lady Berenice: I am glad you've enjoyed the story so far. *Nim takes a look at your review, re-reads it, and looks very amused and happy* It's surprised me how many people have mentioned that they like Nimaron—people generally seem to like big, strong warriors, and he is a soft-spoken healer in lemon-rinsed scrubs.**

***Anon E. Mus: _The Complete Book of Herbs_ sits an arm's length away when I'm writing. *g* Though the medical info. in this story doesn't match ancient/medieval medicine in all respects (i.e., I imagine the elves would have a better understanding of anatomy and how the body works in general, they have better hygiene, etc.), the elves would probably be similarly limited to herbs/certain medical instruments/etc. I'm glad to hear that you're enjoying the story.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: See preceding chapters. **

How long has it been? Over three months? I am sorry for such a long wait, and extend heaps of thanks to those of you who continue to read despite the rare updates, different subject, and slow progress. 

I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this chapter, but if I hadn't put something up soon, I think this story would stay at a permanent standstill. 

-Aranel (aranels@hotmail.com)

**Author's Notes and Responses to Reviews follow the chapter. **

~*~~*~~*~

**Chapter 5**

It was so good to go home. Even the walk there was refreshing: the dim twilight giving way to darker night and the first glinting stars, the waning hustle of the day dying down, the feel of gradually cooling air. None of this, however, felt quite as good as laying his hand to the polished metal of the handle, as having the door open to a place quiet and welcoming. 

Nimaron kicked off his shoes, shoving them next to the door with the side of his foot while lighting the lamp that waited on a shelf nearby. Soft light sprang up in the room, and the healer padded into the kitchen for something to drink. It had been an especially long day, and tomorrow would be another such day, and the day after, and the next day after that…

He had not anticipated taking on another charge, not so soon as this. He would have been content to set an occasional broken bone and doctor scrapes and cuts, to fold colored papers into swans and stars while trying to sort out awful days, and to watch healthy little elflings grow from tiny toddling things to strong, sure adults. 

Instead, he had a particularly difficult case on his hands. The healer poured the day's milk - as yet untouched - into a pan to warm, musing. A deaf child - what did you do with a deaf child? One might point out that he had successfully calmed the elfling, that he had gotten him to pick at a little food, to relieve himself, even to wash his hands in a basin of water. But it was not as though he could read or tell the little one a story, or teach him any new games, or have any sort of conversation at all with him. He could not even ask the child his name. 

~*~

"You should not be eating that."

Nimaron glanced up from the pastry he was about to bite into, catching Eithel's disapproving look. Indeed, it was covered in a sugar glaze, but the fruit inside had been left alone, and he'd taken a cup of tea before leaving the house. 

"You should be eating something more nutritious," Eithel went on, holding out her hands for the stack of papers the other healer had been carrying under his arm, "If you would have stopped by my house, I would have let you eat there. We had eggs and toast this morning, and apples."

"This has apples in it," Nimaron took a bite of the pastry, walking with Eithel to the infirmary. He swallowed, wiping off a bit of the sugar glaze on his tunic, "I was in a hurry today. I am hoping to meet with Aglariel and Seregon before the little one wakes up."

"I suppose we had better go check in on him," Eithel walked into the infirmary while Nimaron held the door open for her, "Hopefully he'll take a little breakfast today."

Nimaron followed her inside, "Hopefully."  

~*~

_Hoping_ does not necessarily cause anything to happen the way that one wishes it to. 

Nimaron had _hoped_ to meet with Aglariel and Seregon early that morning – but that was not to be. He had also hoped to get some breakfast inside his tiny charge, but that was not likely to happen either. 

When he arrived, there was already a tray in the alcove, bearing a bowl of hot cereal with milk and brown sugar pooling through it and a blue cup half-filled with apple juice. The breakfast seemed to have cooled to the point of being unappetizing, and judging by the sounds from the elfling's room, it was unlikely that it would get eaten even if it were still warm. 

~*~

_Do not spin like that, or you are going to make yourself sick. _

Nana had been smiling though, watching him hop from foot to foot in the soft, green grass, his toes carefully avoiding the fragile purple petals of wild violets. It was a good game, a game that he often played when it was warm, whirling in circles like a painted top gone wild. The tall, thin trees would melt into a blur of browns and greens, and if he looked up the sky was a rotating lid of blue. He had laughed, answering,_ No, I'm not! I can stop whenever I want!_

He couldn't stop. He desperately wanted to, but he couldn't stop. 

~*~

"Hand me those towels there, will you?" Nimaron held out a hand, taking the stack of small towels from Eithel. He swished one around in a basin of water, wiping at the elfling's hands. If possible, the child actually looked worse this morning, even if he was a bit more alert. The dark bruises had peaked, standing out in stark contrast to little one's wanning features. Nimaron rinsed the cloth, glancing up at Eithel again, "Did Eryn tell you how long he has been like this?"

"She said she picked him up when he started crying early this morning, and he got sick all over her," Eithel shook out a fresh white sheet, spreading it over the unoccupied half of the bed, "Every time he moves his head more than just a little, he starts to sway, and once in awhile he gets sick." She tucked a corner under the mattress, "Poor Little One. Mardil might know of a way to curb it a little; he has treated quite a few people with head wounds."

"He has treated broken eardrums as well," Nimaron nodded slowly, sighing as he dabbed at the child's bruised cheeks, causing the elfling to grab for the cloth in order to wash his own face. "I should really talk with him." 

~*~

"That is a good elfling; just hold still," Mardil bit at his lip, trying to see inside the child's ear. He was quite used to peering inside people's ears – it was not unknown for some idiot to poke around in his or her ears with hairpins or quill ends, and there had been the rare occasions when he had the delight of showing one of his apprentices how to drown a wayward insect in oil. However, he was not especially used to elflings – particularly irritable, frightened, nauseous elflings. 

"Well," Nimaron held the child on his lap, trying to keep the little one still, "What do you think?" 

"I think I cannot see a single thing," Mardil knelt half on the bed, half on the chair he had drawn over, awkwardly trying to adjust his light so that he could get a better look at the elfling's eardrum – or what was left of it. "It is all blood and filth in there; we are going to have to flush them."

"Are you sure about that?" Nimaron started rubbing the child's back in circles. The little one had not taken well to having Mardil examine his ears, even after taking a few thirsty sips of mind-dulling tea, and he could only imagine how the elfling would respond to having his ears flushed out. "His eardrums cannot keep the rinse back."

"They are going to get infected if they are not kept clean. The drums cannot heal properly if there is all that debris in the ears. A vinegar rinse will kill anything in the canals, and dry them up as well," Mardil sighed heavily, turning to Ovoril, who was taking notes in the corner, "Fetch me a glass of rinse and a bandage basin, and a clean towel."

~*~

"That is good," Mardil kept the child's ear pressed back while he poured in a little of the solution to clean it out, eliciting a protesting yelp from the elfling, who tried to wriggle out of Eithel's grasp – though Mardil was not sure if it was to grab his ears or to swipe at the healer. He pressed around the child's ear a little, avoiding a look at the terrified little face and trying ignore the elfling's cries, "Almost done with this one. Nimaron, you are going to have to get him to turn his head so that it can drain out. I will do the other ear in about ten minutes, and we will be done with it." He pressed a pad of folded cloth over the ear, waiting for Nimaron to hold it in place, "You know how I feel about this."

"Do not expand on that point," Eithel gave Mardil a warning look, shifting the child on her lap while Nimaron carefully turned the tiny head in his hands, "Not now."

"Whoever inflicted the breaks probably braced his head like this. It is more frightening than anything else," Nimaron added, knowing that the older healer was not exactly used to frightened, struggling children. He tilted his head in order to see the little one's face, noting with relief that the child had begun to quiet after being left in the same position for awhile. He had worked one hand free enough to be able to rub a handful of blanket across his face, his grey eyes loosely focused on the blue stars. 

Mardil was quiet, choosing not to get himself into an argument with Eithel at the moment. There were things that ought to be discussed, and soon, but he was willing to concede that this was not the place and time. He pulled his chair closer to the child again, gently massaging around the ear before pouring a little rinse into it. "All right; that is the end of it," the healer relaxed, gathering up the used supplies into an empty basin, "If all goes well, I will not have to flush them out again. Keep them bandaged until tomorrow; they should finish draining by then." He wrapped a bandage roll around the child's head, effectively keeping the pads over his ears in place, "His ears need to stay very clean and dry; I will try to get another look later this week."

~*~

Was it ever going to stop? He had wanted to scream, and then he had screamed – but nothing sufficient had come out, so he had stopped. Then he had wanted to hide, but it was hard to find a little place to go when every time he moved the world decided to tip and turn. He just wanted to go away…to get away from the tipsy room and the big elves pressing and pulling at his ears and pouring things into them – why did they do that?! Were they trying to do something good, or something bad? How could pouring things into somebody's ears be a good thing? Unless maybe they were trying to wash them, but still! Nana had never washed his ears that way. 

He crossed his arms over his eyes, peering out through a crack to watch the big elves. The lady who had held him on her lap during the wet ears was sitting in a chair, folding towels. He could not remember much about the wet ears except being all wrapped up in the blanket that covered him now, and crying and struggling, and of course the big elves getting his ears wet – and the lemony elf's hands holding his head still. 

When they were finally finished with everything they had tucked him back into bed with all the blankets, and the lady had kissed his forehead. He didn't want her to kiss him, especially not after all of that, he wanted Nana to kiss him! He wanted Nana right here, right now! He had rubbed at the kiss with his hand, and then he had pulled the cuddly star blanket over his head. For right now, it was the best way to hide.  

The sun was beginning to drift down out of the sky, but the room was still very bright, bright enough for him to be able to see the blue and silver stars stitched onto the white cloth, and to see the big people through the blanket, walking like shadows in the room. Suddenly someone sat down on the bed, and he shifted his eyes to see one particularly familiar shadow sitting next to him. The lemony elf. 

He was upset with that lemony elf right now…he was upset with everyone. Upset with the elf who prodded at his ears, upset at the lemony elf for holding him still instead of helping, upset with Ada and Nana for not being there…yes, upset with everyone. So when the elf began rubbing his shoulder, he naturally jerked it away. 

~*~

"This was not a very good day for you, Little One," Nimaron sat on the elfling's bed, balancing the most recent paperwork on his knees. The child had scrunched up into a little ball as best he could while on his back, his knees bent and his arms crossed over his head on top of the star blanket, which covered his face. He was probably more used to sleeping on his side, curled up. Really, how was the child accustomed to sleeping? Had he normally slept alone by himself, or in a room with his parents? Was he used to having a light, a special blanket or toy? 

The healer reached over to rub the child's shoulder, continuing even when the elfling pulled away. "We did not want to have to do it," he mentioned, carefully tugging the blanket down to cover the little one, "But we had to."

"Aron?" Aglariel peered around the door, her arms full of papers again, "Have you got a few minutes?"

"I suppose," Nimaron nodded towards the empty chair next to the bed, reaching for the papers he had been working on. Aglariel and her mountains of paperwork… "Here are this morning's reports."

"Thank you," Aglariel shuffled the papers into order, "Aron, Seregon asked me to tell you that they were unable to find any information at the settlements. No one has reported a child missing, and no traveling parties have passed through recently. This is not making very much sense."

"No," Nimaron glanced to the elfling, who had drawn his blanket over his head again, this time keeping a firm hold on it with his tiny hands, "It is not. Perhaps they came from a different direction, and diverted to the path; or perhaps the child was lucid for awhile and able to wander around, or…or something."

Aglariel shifted in her chair, watching as Nimaron pushed the embroidered blanket away from the child's face, "What are you going to do, Aron? If they do not find his parents, I mean." 

"I plan to talk to Sarn and Beinell," Nimaron remained impassive, though he was slightly surprised that the other healer had decided to address something not especially important to her investigation. He reached for a cup of tea, offering a little to the elfling, who chose to extract one tiny hand from the bedclothes in order to shove him away, "They have raised a lot of children, and I trust them."

Aglariel gave Nimaron a long look then, not surprised when he did not meet her face again. She had gathered over the years that he had not been completely satisfied with having Sarn and Beinell as foster parents himself, though he would readily praise them if asked. "That might be all right."

"It might be," Nimaron finally looked up again, though his eyes quickly drifted to the window, where they rested on the bench beneath the silver pear tree, "He needs his parents though…he needs them very much." 

"That cannot be helped, Aron," Aglariel followed his gaze, her fingers twisting the ring she wore on her middle finger around, "He will probably never see them again."

"He has called for them," Nimaron remarked absently, straightening. He looked down at the elfling again, drawing in a deep breath upon discovering that the little one had pulled the blanket over his head yet again, "But really, what am I to do, Aglariel? How do we tell him anything? How is he ever going to learn anything?"

"I do not know," Aglariel responded, nearly getting up from her chair to slide onto the bed next to Nimaron, but staying firmly in her spot instead, "Right now he just has to get better though, and you know how to help with that."

"Perhaps," Nimaron moved back, allowing the other healer to see past him to the blanketed little lump in the bed. It was good to have someone to mention these worries to, even if Aglariel was only taking a moment to be polite. "I am not sure it is going to be enough though – today was a bad day. He has not been sleeping well, and he is not eating very much. Right now he is only angry, but I am afraid he might start to withdraw – and there really is not a lot I can do from there."

"You do what you can," Aglariel commented vaguely, her mind drifting back despite her regrets to several times when she had _not_ done everything she might have. She shook the most stubborn memories from her head, trying to focus on something else, "Would you like to see a story?"

"See a story?" Nimaron raised his eyebrows at her, wondering if she had misspoken. 

"Yes," Aglariel smiled mildly, "See a story."

~*~

It was getting darker. At first he thought his eyes were doing something strange again, since the dark did not come gradually, but in large degrees, as though someone were putting out the lights one by one. He peered out from the scalloped edge of the blanket, and someone was indeed putting out the lights. 

No! No, no, no, no! If they were putting out the lights, that meant that they were going to make him go to sleep. He did not mind sleeping, really – in fact, it was something rather nice to get lost in the hazy dreams of half memories, but if he went to sleep, that meant that the big elves would _leave_…and he most certainly did not want to be left alone. 

~*~

"Gracious, what is wrong with him?" Aglariel turned from extinguishing one of the lamps affixed to the wall, startled when the elfling suddenly whined out the word 'no', stretching it with alarmed protest as only a small child could. The little one had pulled the blanket off of his head, grasping it in one hand and a fold of Nimaron's sleeve in the other. 

"I think he might be afraid of the dark," Nimaron reasoned, patting the child's shoulder until the tiny fingers loosened their grip on his arm, "They did not leave a lantern burning in here last night, did they? I should have thought of that."

"Probably not," Aglariel shook her head, picking up the small one from the bedside table to light before putting out the last lamp on the wall. This she placed strategically on a low shelf, making sure that it lit up the opposite wall adequately. "That should work well," she nodded to herself, noting Nimaron's slight grin upon realizing what she was planning to do. The lady shrugged, hesitantly and carefully sitting down next to the child on the other side of the bed before testing her hands in front of the light, "I thought it was worth a try."

~*~

A bird – perhaps a dove – sprang up on the wall, the feathers of its wings beating out the rhythm of flight before shifting into long-eared rabbit. The child glanced from the shadow-animals to the lady's hands playing in front of the lantern light, trying to figure out the way she had twisted her fingers to turn them into pictures. His mind was getting sleepy though, so he looked back to the wall where a tiny plant was pushing its way out of the ground, slowly unfurling its leaves and then the petals of a blossomy flower. It folded in upon itself, and then the dove sprang up again, fluttering out of the shadow into pristine white feathers, striking its wings against the blue sky that had materialized somewhere in yet another new dream. 

~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~

**Author's Notes**

Postural/positional vertigo – which is what Little One is dealing with - is a common result of damage to the workings of the inner ear. Episodes of dizziness result from moving the head to certain positions, and can be either short or long-lasting. The dizziness is often accompanied by nausea, vomiting, and – most common - loss of balance. Tinnitus (ringing in the ears), though not mentioned in the story, is also very common. 

There is a glitch however – Little One's vertigo was not present in the preceding chapters. You can choose to believe the symptoms were more-or-less absent (which is possible, though it requires a somewhat lengthy explanation) or that Nimaron was moving the child slowly enough not to cause any pronounced problems. 

It's difficult to see well enough inside a person's ear to see their eardrum without an otoscope, but it is possible if you've got a good light source and good eyes. We'll assume Mardil has both. 

Mardil's decision to flush Little One's ears with a vinegar solution has its pros and cons – on the down-side, the child's eardrums are perforated, so they can't block the rinse from going further inside his ears (as Nim points out), but on the up-side, the rinse will flush out most of the debris in the child's ears, along with killing any bacteria or viruses that could take advantage of an ideal habitat. Ear flushes today usually contain rubbing alcohol or a saline solution, but vinegar can also be used, and would probably be more readily available in a place like Imladris. Mardil bandages Little One's ears because otherwise there might be an awful mess on the pillowcases. That, and it will keep his tiny fingers out of his ears. 

~*~~*~~*~

**Responses to Reviews**

***daw the minstrel**: Little One really does miss his parents horribly, and being in a place filled with strangers has got to be terribly frightening. 

***Freya writes**: Thank you for the kind compliments! As for lurking reviewers, I understand completely…it seems to go hand-in-hand with terribly busy writers. *g*

***Dragon Confused**: I still have a terrible time figuring out elfling ages, but Little One is the equivalent of about four or five – not quite old enough to have figured out how to read very well, but certainly not a baby! (As he would put it.)

Nim may be fairly soft-spoken, but I think most people have figured out that you don't dare mess with his patients. I think Little One is quite safe from prying investigators. 

The community response seemed quite a natural thing for an area like Imladris, where most people probably have connections with several other people, and large crisis involving children are somewhat rare. That, and Eithel is one excellent fundraiser. 

***Dragon-of-the-north:** I like the part with the memory as well – my own memories from when I was very small are all bits and pieces, mainly narrow details. 

I will admit to enjoying writing the scenes with both Aglariel and Nimaron, considering their past and the very differences in regard to care approaches you pointed out in your review. Poor Aglariel…she really is a creative, caring person, for her part…she just doesn't quite know how to handle a small child.

The names in the bench…let's just say that Aglariel's _almost_ got carved in. 

Ovoril will be back – I quite like writing the apprentices, since they're still young and learning things, making stupid but forgivable mistakes, etc. And – lol! – no, he hasn't learned the consequences of complaining about teachers yet. *g*

Nim says he quite guilty of the lack of grandchildren for Rhîwîth – perhaps even more so than Aglariel – but…well… umm…yes, very guilty. 

***Lutris:** Ovoril is new – I'm glad you liked him!

And I'm glad you liked the interaction between Nimaron and Little One – the elfling can't quite decide if he likes that lemony elf or not. *g*

***farflung:** Medicare and HMOs for Elves – gosh, I hope not! You're going to give me nightmares of Lord Elrond asking for my insurance card…

Nim's name is on the bench, but Aglariel's is not – I'll explain why later. You are right in assuming they had a relationship at one point though – Aglariel is the lady Nim tells Aldan about in "Holding". 

Ai, yes – everyone needs a blankie! I was absolutely addicted to mine when I was small. 

Thank you for all of your other wonderful comments – I adored reading over them all. 

***Elainor:** I agree that life should be preserved whenever there's still a chance of something good. Only the person that life belongs to really knows whether that potential exists or not. 


	6. Chapter 6

**

* * *

Disclaimer: See preceding chapters.**

Another long wait – I do apologize. I have cut and deleted so many bits and pieces of this chapter multiple times before deciding it was best just the way it was (and is again), even if it has gotten a bit long. I shall mess no longer, and am posting as is. I've proofed, but am short on sleep – so please point out any striking grammar errors.

Thanks so much to those who continue to follow my slow progress!

**Responses to reviews follow the chapter. **

-Aranel

**Chapter 6**

It had been a full week – a long week, a difficult week. A week of fighting the protests of a frightened elfling in order to comb hair and change bandages, a week of slowly and steadily coaxing the child to eat, a week – essentially – of watching the little one get both better and worse at the same time.

The swelling had gone down, and the bruises had begun to fade, but the elfling had gone pale and dullish at the same time. He'd figured out how to better ignore the dizziness, but had less desire to move. It was difficult to balance the child's physical needs with those other less tangible ones, and the effects of that difficulty had begun to make themselves apparent.

"Hello, elfling," Mardil strode into the child's room, finding the elfling playing idly with his fingers. At the sight of him, the little one stopped what he was doing to cover his ears, shrinking back a bit. The healer had expected a shriek or a torrent of tears, but reminded himself that this was not an irrational toddler, but a child probably old enough to begin attending training and lessons, had things been different.

"He is looking better, Aron," Mardil commented, turning to where Nimaron was watering a few plants at the windows. He took out his light, admiring the ingenious creation of the Galadhrim for a moment before glancing back to the elfling, who had decided to remove his hands from his ears in order to knot them in his blanket. "He is still a bit green though."

"Again?" Nimaron put down the glass he was using to water the plants, prepared to dart for a basin, "He has not been sick since the day before yesterday."

Mardil laughed to himself, twirling the light between his fingers a bit, "No, I meant the bruises are still a bit green, though they have faded for the most part."

"Oh," Nimaron nodded, relieved, "They are healing nicely, actually. Did you come to check his ears?"

"I would not be here otherwise," Mardil said almost under his breath, exhaling sharply. The child was somewhat more cooperative this time, Nimaron only sitting beside him and gently holding his head in place. Once or twice the elfling squeaked, reaching up with a small hand to push at Mardil's fingers.

"The left one looks as though it will heal well – it will not be perfect, but I do not think it will cause any problems," Mardil finally put the light away, patting the child's knee, "All done, elfling. The right one will take longer, but should be about the same in the end."

"So you think he will be able to hear again, once the eardrums have healed over?" Nimaron waited for an answer, any shred of hope quickly flitting away when Mardil met the question with a look of surprise.

"No," the other healer finally said, shaking his head slightly, "I doubt he will ever hear anything with either ear again. The break on the right went right through the canal, and the one on the left is sure to have disturbed everything inside." Mardil rose from his place, drawing in a deep breath before heading for the door, "I am sorry, but I told you."

* * *

After the third or fourth time, he had figured out that the big elves were not going to do anything bad when they held his head still. They poked and pressed at his ears a little, sometimes cleaning the outsides with a damp cloth or changing the bandage on his head, which they had eventually left off altogether. He was not entirely sure why they looked at his ears so often – perhaps they were trying to fix them – but whatever it was, they did not mean to hurt him, so he stopped struggling. That had been a smart thing to do. They had stopped keeping his fingers all wrapped up, and he was able to tap their hands whenever they were doing something that _did_ happen to hurt, which usually made them stop – and as long as he could make them stop, it did not seem so scary.

When the elf in the grey tunic came in though, he had been more than a little frightened, because he was the elf who had washed his ears before. Then the lemony elf had come to sit next to him, which obviously meant that they were going to do something to his ears. The elf had only poked and played with his strange little light though, which was oddly and pleasantly warm. Then he had left, and the lemony elf had picked him up, and then…

And then – where were they going? The child glanced about as much as he could without moving his head overmuch, realizing that they were not making for the rocking chair, as they usually did, but for the doorway.

They were going outside!

* * *

Nimaron stared after Mardil for a moment, then turned to look at the elfling again. Every odd hope or gain seemed to be coupled with some new worry or, more often, the validation of an old one. It seemed impossible to gather up all the concerns over the child at once, propelling all forward together.

It was possible, however, to gather the elfling up, to carefully lift the warm little tangle of limbs into one's arms without making the child panicky or sick. This Nimaron did, no longer surprised at the way the little one struggled against another wave of dizziness before shifting into the most comfortable position, hands and face snuggled into his blanket. The healer was not quite accustomed to carrying a small child about, but it was not overly difficult. Nimaron paused to wrap an extra blanket around the elfling, then let himself outside.

He had not taken the little one outside his room before, but there seemed to be no harm in taking him for a walk through the gardens. The early afternoon air was sufficiently warm but refreshing, and the late summer flowers provided hints of color amid the vibrant greens of the lawn and leaves.

Ah, but it was good to get out of that infirmary.

* * *

Mmm – it was so nice to be outside! He had seen the trees and flowers from the window, but it was a hundred times better to be able to reach out and finger the soft bits of green leaves and velvety petals, to follow a bright butterfly with his eyes, to see beyond the first few trees to the gardens beyond, the wood studded hill where a great house sat, blurs of people walking and rooftops in the spaces between thick branches. It dawned on him that this was no little village in the woods, but a large city instead. He had heard about cities, about bakeries and dairies and blacksmiths, and market stands and paved squares with fountains and pools. Did this place have all of that? He glanced about, but realized he could not see much beyond the leafy trees and the flowery bushes that formed a fence around the gardens where he was.

It had one thing for certain, he realized, seeing a small blond head bobbing on the other side of the bushes. Other children.

* * *

Silima dragged behind her mother, contemplating the little brown sandals on her feet. The sandals were getting too small, but Nana had said that she had to wait until next summer to get new ones, even though Nessime and Ireth had the prettiest kind made of white leather with flowers stamped on them. If she had white sandals with flowers, she would wear them with her purple Lady Arwen dress. Lady Arwen's purple dress was much longer, too long for Silima to see her feet, but she _must_ have been wearing white sandals with flowers underneath.

"Hurry, Silmë," Eithel glanced over her shoulder, watching as her daughter ground her foot into the one battered sandal, "I need to stop at the infirmary before visiting Nessime's nana."

Silima thumped along the path, twisting the skipping rope she had brought with her around her hands, "Why couldn't Ada stay home with me?"

Eithel stopped, prodding her daughter along and taking the rope for a moment in order to coil it so that Silmë wouldn't drag it behind her, "Ada is making circlets for some people, and needed to visit Tinceredir's forge in order to start them, so you have to come with me."

Silima followed along behind her mother, wondering just how long the visit to the infirmary was going to take. Visiting people's houses was usually fun, since Nana most often visited ladies who were going to have new babies in their families soon, or people with very little babies already. Feeling the babies kicking and turning inside their mothers was a treat, and sometimes she was allowed to look through baskets of tiny clothes and blankets and booties, all little enough to dress her favorite doll. The best part was the bitty baby elflings though – tiny little things wrapped in soft blankets. When Nana visited, the mothers or fathers would unwrap the babies, and Silima and her mother would count all of the little fingers and toes, pat the silky hair, and grin as the babies wiggled and kicked. Yes, visiting was usually a treat.

The infirmary, however, had to be the most boring place in the entire world. Besides the bad chair in the corner, anyway. Sure enough, if Nimaron was at his desk he usually let her take a piece of candy from the orange and yellow dish there, but lately he had not been at his desk at all. Aglariel had a collection of pretty blown glass animals on her desk, but she was not usually allowed to touch them. And Mardil had the most fascinating lights and tools and _everything_, but most times she did not even get a chance to look at those, since he kept most of them wrapped up. Most times she had to sit in a chair in the hallway, which was nearly as awful as sitting in the bad corner chair at home.

"Oh, look," Eithel smiled at her daughter, "Nimaron and Little One are out in the garden today. If you aren't a bother, you can stay outside and skip until I am finished inside."

* * *

Nimaron absently turned the pages in the book he had carried with him while enjoying the late summer weather. The air had taken on only the slightest chill, and bright flowers still filled the gardens. The bench under the silver pear tree had been positioned to offer a pleasant view of the small pond, trees, flowers, the birdbath moved near the window, and, further away, the infirmary's large herb garden.

The little one, it seemed, enjoyed being outside as well. He had calmed, to a certain extent, content to curl up on the bench with his blanket.

"Aron?" Eithel walked over, Silima's small hand in her own, "I have to go inside for a few minutes to check on someone. Would you mind if Silmë waited for me out here?"

"That would be fine," Nimaron nodded, then glanced over to Silima, who was looking with barely disguised interest at the child sitting next to him on the bench. The little one stared straight back at her.

* * *

"One and two, red and blue, I want sandals that are new," Silima skipped through the garden, proud of her rhyme and her ability not to get tangled up in the rope. She took a second to peer over her shoulder at the other elfling, then whipped her skipping rope over her head again, "White, white, white, nice and bright, with flowers…flowers…and they will be white."

Silima plunked herself down in the grass, far away enough to look at the elfling without getting in trouble for staring. Right after her nana had left she had said hello, but he had not even waved to her. Then she had asked if he wanted to play with her, but Nimaron had told her that he could not hear her, and that he was not feeling especially well, and then he had suggested that she skip around the garden a little.

The littler elfling reminded her very much of a baby – the way he sat all snuggled in his blanket, letting Nimaron turn the pages of the book they were looking at instead of doing it himself. She rolled over in the grass, then crawled over to sit on the ground near the bench.

"Would you like to hear the story, Silmë?" Nimaron offered, looking down at her, "We can start over."

"No," Silima shook her head, twining her skipping rope around her feet. She looked over at the other elfling, staring for a moment at the pale green stockings on his feet, "Why isn't he wearing shoes?" There had been a lot of times when she had wanted to go outside barefoot, but her mother usually said _no_. If she had pretty white sandals though, she would wear them _everywhere_. Maybe even to bed.

"We just came outside to sit," Nimaron responded, turning another page in the book.

"Is that why he's wearing his nightclothes too?" Silima asked, getting up and pushing herself onto the empty part of the bench.

"Yes," Nimaron nodded, noting that the little one had leaned forward slightly to see past him to Silima, though it was hard to tell if he was interested in the other elfling's presence or simply annoyed. He pointed at a few birds in the book's illustration, "He'll probably take a nap when we go back inside."

"I don't take naps anymore," Silima proclaimed, swinging her feet. She caught the other elfling looking at her, and addressed him, "My nana says when you're better we can play. Do you like coloring? I have lots of colors."

The elfling stopped looking at her, but Nimaron smiled, "I think that is a nice idea, Silmë." He waved to her mother as Eithel hurried out of the infirmary, then turned back to the little girl, "Next time you should bring them with you."

* * *

He had been rather surprised when the little girl had come into the garden, jumping around with her rope and playing in the grass. He would have liked very much to play in the grass too, but he was feeling rather sleepy now, and wasn't quite sure he could manage to slip off the bench and onto the ground without going dizzy and falling, and, anyway, the little girl had already skipped away again.

If he had been able to do absolutely anything he wanted, he would have snuggled into the green grass on the ground, tangled up in the star blanket to stare up at the sky. It would have been nice even to just rub his toes in the wondrously alive carpet, or to dabble them in the pond that appeared when the lemony elf settled him onto a bench.

The bench was not so awfully bad in comparison though. He shifted, dragging his blanket over his shoulder and across his face, digging his toes into the cool corner of the bench where the back and arm met the seat. From here he could see two ducks paddling on the surface of the pond, a few fat and fuzzy bumblebees grazing the bright petals of the flowers at the edge of the water. Ada had told him once that it was a surprise that bumblebees could fly with such tumbly bodies. What did bumblebees eat that made them so tumbly? Did they eat honey like honeybees? The elfling focused on one particular bee, suddenly feeling very alone. He wanted to ask the questions, and all sorts of questions about cities, this city, and where he was - but Ada was not here to answer them. And he couldn't ask them anyway.

* * *

Nimaron had relaxed once Silm's chatter ended, lazily watching two apprentices taking cuttings in the herb gardens. One of them had happened across a clump of dandelion puffs and was blowing the wind-ready seeds into the face of the other. The healer found himself laughing quietly in spite of himself, and shook his head slightly.

He glanced down at the elfling, watching the child follow a fat bumblebee as it wove its way among the heavy pink heads of a rose bush with his eyes. Abruptly the little one curled, letting out a wobbly sob.

"What is this all of a sudden?" Nimaron shifted the child onto his lap, startled when the crying only intensified. He gently checked to be sure that nothing had upset the elfling's head or ears, then rose to his feet, carrying the little one back indoors. Perhaps the trip into the gardens had been quite long enough.

* * *

"Ah, it would seem that your charge is awake, Nimaron."

Nimaron stopped on his walk back to the elfling's room, formally nodding his head, "Lord Elrond."

The master of Rivendell strode over, pausing to place a few thick packets of papers onto the vacant desk of one of the healers, "I have not been able to see you for a while. I trust everything is going well?"

"As well as it might," Nimaron responded, glad that the child had quieted down during the walk back to the infirmary. For some reason, it did not seem in the best of interests to present a sobbing elfling to the Lord of Imladris.

"Well, let's have a quick look then," Elrond gave the little one a gentle smile before probing the healing bones and searching through the strands of dark hair to check the still pink scar on the child's head. "Everything would appear to be progressing well as far as wounds go," Elrond picked up his papers again, beginning to walk down the hall at an easy pace. He glanced over his shoulder to see Nimaron carrying the elfling, noting that the stocking on the child's left foot was dangling on his toes. His own children had had a terrible habit of running out to greet him while still in their stocking feet when they were still but elflings – especially Arwen, who had never developed the urge to go stomping about in boots the way the boys had. He smiled faintly to himself, enjoying the happy memories, then looked over his shoulder again, "Eithel tells me you are looking to speak with Sarn and Beinell."

"This evening," Nimaron nodded, hoping that Lord Elrond would not press the matter.

Elrond paused at the doorway of each occupied room, sometimes only peering in, other times giving a brief greeting or answering a question. He turned, this time meeting Nimaron's stride, "He needs to be eating and sleeping regularly before he leaves. And," here he took a long glance at the elfling, "And I believe he ought to be on his feet again."

Nimaron nodded again, reaching the door to the child's room. The little one seemed to relax even further at the sight of the familiar bed and chairs, and Nimaron guessed he might even fall asleep before his head hit the pillow.

"And Nimaron," Elrond continued down the hall, headed for the exit, "He is losing a sock."

* * *

Nimaron toyed with his fork slightly, making it flick back and forth between his fingers. He remembered this fork quite well – Sarn and Beinell had never exchanged their set of dull, heavy flatware for one of the more delicate silverware sets favored by most people. The healer could recall still being fairly small, trying to finish a bowl of thick soup with a spoon that hardly fit into his mouth.

"Look, venison stew with barley – mmm," Sarn took the steaming dish from his wife, setting it down on the table. He stirred it with the ladle, lifting a bit and pouring it back into the pot, "Your favorite, Aron."

"It looks delicious," Nimaron smiled a bit uneasily, laying down his fork on the tan colored napkin next to his plate. The rich stew had ceased being his favorite meal years and years ago, but it had never seemed to occur to his foster parents that he might have lost his taste for it. Still, it was nice of them to serve something they were quite sure he would enjoy.

"I put carrots in, special for you," Beinell seated herself at the table, unfolding her napkin and laying it over her knees. Of all the children she and her husband had helped to raise, she felt least connected to Nimaron. It had been rather a surprise when he had dropped by, asking if he might arrange a meeting with them. The lady unwrapped a towel from around a still warm loaf of bread, watching as the younger elf accepted a bowl of stew from Sarn, "So, Nimaron, what have you been doing lately?"

"He has been tending to that little lost elfling," Sarn answered for him, smiling proudly before turning to the healer, "Have you heard anything of his parents?"

"No," Nimaron answered shortly, pausing to skim his spoon through the meat and vegetables in his bowl. He reminded himself again that Sarn and Beinell were good people, patient people, people who had raised several children, then addressed them, "That was what I hoped to speak with you about, actually."

The was a brief gap of silence as Sarn and Beinell glanced at each other, the lady quietly taking a brown and yellow bowl from her husband. Sarn finally responded, carefully, "You mean to ask us if we would keep the child, in the case that his parents are not found."

"If you would consider it," Nimaron slid his knife into the butter dish, ignoring the protesting thoughts in his head, then reached for the slice of bread on the side of his plate, "It will be at least another week before he can leave the infirmary, at the very least I imagine."

"How is the elfling, Nimaron?" Beinell steered the conversation in a slightly different direction, "We hear things, of course, but it is difficult to know what is really true."

Nimaron swallowed a bite of bread, deciding that it would not hurt to add some jam to his slice, "Well, what have you heard?"

Another look was exchanged between the couple at the table, and Beinell dabbed her fingertips on the edge of her napkin, "We have been told that he cannot speak or hear, that he needs assistance in most of his daily tasks. That is a lot to ask, Aron."

"He has been quite unwell," Nimaron offered as a way of explanation, remembering to scrape the excess jam on his knife back into the small, sticky jar, "I would not expect you to take him in until he is doing better, and even then I will have to work with him quite often, until we arrange some sort of routine…and basis of communication…I am sure there is…something." He felt himself trail off as he realized that settling the child was going to be a very long process. "He really will need a good place to stay."

Sarn stirred his spoon around in his stew, drawing in a deep breath, "We will discuss it, and then we will let you know."

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Pessimist Mardil speaks true – such breaks do not offer much hope for hearing later on. A break through the ear canal will most definitely destroy the inner ear, and one nearby would most likely disrupt the small bones in the ear that carry vibrations necessary for hearing. Currently, doctors and surgeons can completely replace those bones, but I highly doubt elves in the Third Age would have those capabilities.

* * *

**Responses to Reviews**

**farflung:** g Don't worry! I do plan to finish all of my stories someday, though it is taking a verrry long time. Hopefully with summer break I'll speed up a bit.

Wiping off Eithel's kiss was a definite Little One action – that elfling is quite the bad-tempered little muse sometimes!

I've spent time with two deaf/HOH children, and learning to communicate is more difficult than some people imagine – esp. when neither person knows much sign/ASL.

And I just loved shadow theater when I was small! There was one man on Sesame Street who could do an elephant – I still remember just being awed!

**Dragon-of-the-North:** It's been so long that I cannot remember what I commented on before…I'll have to start updating faster!

Mardil, Mardil – he really is sort of stuck in this situation, and is not especially happy with it. Though he feels sorry for the poor little elfling, and will provide the necessary care, he still has his own beliefs about what should have been done. As to his later thoughts…we will see.

No, I suppose Nimaron was not an overly happy child – though I think Sarn and Beinell genuinely tried. I don't think Nimaron was the sort of child to be reassured and settled in with trips swimming and sledding or new skates or even snuggles – even he can be difficult.

Tell dear Alagant I was sorry to make him sniffle – I will attempt to be nicer in the future!

**Dragon Confused:** When I first heard of the vinegar rinse I sort of shuddered, but I suppose it's practical (Little One, having now adjusted to it, just says it stinks – literally).

Little One is very good at being grumpy…and bad-tempered in general. It makes him an especially difficult muse sometimes. And the "drop-the-mood-to-cling" response is not uncommon – he is the sort you have to pry off finger by tiny curled finger.

And I'm glad you think you may like Aglariel – she does have good ideas, but I think she's afraid of using them sometimes.

**daw the minstrel:** Luckily, I think the rinse bit was the most frightening thing I'm going to have to write for this story – I don't like to put my characters through much more than what's necessary to story lines.

The elfling muse, of course, glared at me for a good while, and rubbed each sympathetic review in my face. g

**Lutris:** I'll try to add a little more about Nim's past every here and there – compared to many OCs it was fairly uneventful. If I don't add much and you're still curious, let me know – I've got a working summary!

**sqrt(-1):** I'm glad you found the story too – and hope you were able to find my (late) update! I will admit to being verrry slow.

I've meddled with canon characters and find that I enjoy working with OCs even better, since I don't have to worry about restoring them to canon form eventually. And Elrond has returned – like any good, but extremely busy, ruler/loremaster/head healer he'll be popping in every now and again.

**AntigoneQ:** Glad to hear you've enjoyed the story so far – I've finally "continued". It takes awhile for me. g


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